I'm having a bit of trouble thinking. Normally I'd classify it as "writer's block" or something, but that doesn't quite feel right. I think this falls more under the "bored-to-tears" category of existence than the "blanking-mental-processes" category, so I hesitate to say that my synapses are closing themselves off, even if that very well may be the case.
It's weird, it's almost like...things are starting to come together (*synchronized gasp*). I'm almost through with the college choice making (Pitt!), I actually have a date to prom (social experiences!), and I don't have much to complain about (complacency!). It feels weird, seeing as I typically have used this blog to vent (with varying degrees of sarcasm) my deepest darkest surface scraping feelings. Well, turns out, my life doesn't suck. Bummer.
I think the weird part for me is that I really have only one more goal for high school (you know, other than, like, graduating) and I'm just failing at accomplishing it. Not failing in the "oh-my-god-it-depresses-me-that-I-can't-manage-to-pull-this-off" kind of fail, more like a "I'm-lazy" kind of fail.
But besides that, I'm starting to be looking forward to the possible end of the year. Things are looking up (you know, relatively) and I give my existence a hesitant "thumbs up" for now. Not quite at "two thumbs up" level, but I'm working on it.
I'm realizing right now that most/all of my blog posts have been extremely abstract. Almost none of them have any real details about my life, aside from the fact that I'm moderately pessimistic and deathly afraid of change (also, I HAVE A PROM DATE, but that's beside the point). So, here's a little nugget for you all:
Today, I started mentally making a tally of the people that I have to make sure I keep in touch with in the future, and discovered just how long that list is. I realize that the list is impossible (there are, like, at least 20 people on it), but I have high hopes. At least, I think, I'm starting to figure out who's important out there in the sea of hormones and acne. About two weeks ago, I probably would have seen that list and thrown it out, knowing the only chance I'd have at EVER keeping up with it would be if I cloned myself, but now I'm thinking:
if I can keep one of these people as my friend, I'm doing all right.
Does that sound excited? I think that's excited. But I'm having trouble distinguishing excited from middlingly boring.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
First Wish of Debilitating Illness
Dear Universe,
(Sidenote: you can tell that this is going to be an especially good blog post, due to the fact that I have directly addressed the entirety of everything, which is unbeatable by any bloggy standards)
I have a bone to pick with you, universe. You have royally pissed me off. For those who know me, that's a very difficult thing to do. You can tick me off, you can make me frustrated, you can annoy me until I threaten to break your fingers and/or hand (you know who you are), but you cannot piss me off. And yet, somehow, universe, you have done it. Screw you.
Today I realized that there is a very slim chance that I will ever see one of my friends again after I leave Flagstaff for the unfathomable wilderness that is Pittsburgh (it's a concrete jungle, except it isn't as jungle-y as New York or Chicago). By "ever see", I don't mean "see you next Christmas break!" or "maybe I'll accidentally run into you at Safeway and we'll talk for about five minutes!". I mean, completely, NEVER SEE AGAIN. She no longer has family in Flagstaff, and unless I was going to U of A (where she is attending, and where, up until about 36 hours ago, I was pretty sure I was attending as well), our paths would probably never cross. That means, counting today, I have approximately 52 days (including weekends) of which I will see her. We could make plans over the summer, but honestly that's so up in the air that it would be impossible to guess how much time would be spent with any one person, not even mentioning any summer trips/jobs I would be partaking in.
So, here's the sucky truth: this is all your fault, universe. You have added yet one more thing onto my list of things that I am not okay with having changed. "The future's so bright" my ass.
I've decided, for your convenience Mr. 42, to provide you with a list of ways that you could make this better.
1.) Fix it (I don't know how, but I figure it wouldn't hurt to leave it open for interpretation. You are all knowing, after all).
2.) Through freak accident, my friend is suddenly struck down by a painful and debilitating illness, which will, of course, result in her being transferred to the Pittsburgh Medical Center across the country, as they have the most innovative (bear with me) treatments, at which point I would be at her bedside and we could talk about, among other things, the sucky weather of Pittsburgh (not that I wish such a painful thing upon her, but this scenario would solve my problem).
3.) Fix it (yeah, I know. I wanted a longer list. Sue me.)
4.) Constantly give me cosmic reminders to keep in contact with my friend, because I suck at that. This could be in the form of (but not limited to): lightning bolts from the heavens (or other assorted smite-ings), her name floating up to the surface of my bowl of alphabet soup, having my life saved by several blondes who then proceed to worry about my feelings (this may seem only loosely connected, but I really prefer this sign-from-above over the others), and/or a crazy roommate the forces me to spend unnaturally long amounts of time "checking my email" rather than socializing with him.
5.) Through a strange coincidence, have us cross paths in the future. This could be on vacation or in one of our hometowns (you could even have us move to the same town unknowingly), but it should be a place where we could meet and talk for a significant amount of time.
I hope I have been clear with you, universe. I wouldn't want to be forced to get mean. And oh, I can get mean. Don't test me.
You're friend and forever your undying servant (unless you, y'know, piss me off again),
RJ
(P.S.: Sorry for wishing debilitating illness on you, friend).
(Sidenote: you can tell that this is going to be an especially good blog post, due to the fact that I have directly addressed the entirety of everything, which is unbeatable by any bloggy standards)
I have a bone to pick with you, universe. You have royally pissed me off. For those who know me, that's a very difficult thing to do. You can tick me off, you can make me frustrated, you can annoy me until I threaten to break your fingers and/or hand (you know who you are), but you cannot piss me off. And yet, somehow, universe, you have done it. Screw you.
Today I realized that there is a very slim chance that I will ever see one of my friends again after I leave Flagstaff for the unfathomable wilderness that is Pittsburgh (it's a concrete jungle, except it isn't as jungle-y as New York or Chicago). By "ever see", I don't mean "see you next Christmas break!" or "maybe I'll accidentally run into you at Safeway and we'll talk for about five minutes!". I mean, completely, NEVER SEE AGAIN. She no longer has family in Flagstaff, and unless I was going to U of A (where she is attending, and where, up until about 36 hours ago, I was pretty sure I was attending as well), our paths would probably never cross. That means, counting today, I have approximately 52 days (including weekends) of which I will see her. We could make plans over the summer, but honestly that's so up in the air that it would be impossible to guess how much time would be spent with any one person, not even mentioning any summer trips/jobs I would be partaking in.
So, here's the sucky truth: this is all your fault, universe. You have added yet one more thing onto my list of things that I am not okay with having changed. "The future's so bright" my ass.
I've decided, for your convenience Mr. 42, to provide you with a list of ways that you could make this better.
1.) Fix it (I don't know how, but I figure it wouldn't hurt to leave it open for interpretation. You are all knowing, after all).
2.) Through freak accident, my friend is suddenly struck down by a painful and debilitating illness, which will, of course, result in her being transferred to the Pittsburgh Medical Center across the country, as they have the most innovative (bear with me) treatments, at which point I would be at her bedside and we could talk about, among other things, the sucky weather of Pittsburgh (not that I wish such a painful thing upon her, but this scenario would solve my problem).
3.) Fix it (yeah, I know. I wanted a longer list. Sue me.)
4.) Constantly give me cosmic reminders to keep in contact with my friend, because I suck at that. This could be in the form of (but not limited to): lightning bolts from the heavens (or other assorted smite-ings), her name floating up to the surface of my bowl of alphabet soup, having my life saved by several blondes who then proceed to worry about my feelings (this may seem only loosely connected, but I really prefer this sign-from-above over the others), and/or a crazy roommate the forces me to spend unnaturally long amounts of time "checking my email" rather than socializing with him.
5.) Through a strange coincidence, have us cross paths in the future. This could be on vacation or in one of our hometowns (you could even have us move to the same town unknowingly), but it should be a place where we could meet and talk for a significant amount of time.
I hope I have been clear with you, universe. I wouldn't want to be forced to get mean. And oh, I can get mean. Don't test me.
You're friend and forever your undying servant (unless you, y'know, piss me off again),
RJ
(P.S.: Sorry for wishing debilitating illness on you, friend).
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
First Day of Decisions
So, yeah, life decisions and such. Bummer.
Apparently there's this thing going around, where we have to decide our futures and stuff. Now that I'm all adult-y I'm expected to be some sort of decisive responsible...adult. Yeah. Not so excited about that one.
Seems to be a lot of things that need to be decided piling up, like college, and college, and maybe college. Also, prom, but that's, like, deja vu or something (didn't I just post about that?). Instinctively I desire to sit on this couch forever and ever and ever. I've heard there's some sort of a job as a couch potato. People get paid to watch TV and give their opinions so that the big Hollywood guys can brainwash us. I think that would be fun.
I just don't have much motivation right now. Except for the whole "graduating from high school" thing (no, I do not know why I just put that in quotes) I'm having trouble looking forward to anything. Prom's coming up--update: still dateless--and then it'll be spring and then summer--update: still no plans--and then I'll be off to who knows where doing who knows what. Except, well, I'll be writing. But new ideas are hard to come by these days; I chose a depressing future profession.
The point is, I'm going to have to start figuring stuff out soon, like, by next week. I have to start accepting some things, and informing people about some things, and interacting with people about some things, and...well, that all makes my stomach start to twist itself up, kinda like how a swing set does when you spin it around and let the chains mix together. I feel like I've gotten too comfortable, and now that I'm hitting the point where comfortable isn't going to be allowed for, like, 10 years, I'm not so much okay with it. Guess it'll just take some getting used to.
Apparently there's this thing going around, where we have to decide our futures and stuff. Now that I'm all adult-y I'm expected to be some sort of decisive responsible...adult. Yeah. Not so excited about that one.
Seems to be a lot of things that need to be decided piling up, like college, and college, and maybe college. Also, prom, but that's, like, deja vu or something (didn't I just post about that?). Instinctively I desire to sit on this couch forever and ever and ever. I've heard there's some sort of a job as a couch potato. People get paid to watch TV and give their opinions so that the big Hollywood guys can brainwash us. I think that would be fun.
I just don't have much motivation right now. Except for the whole "graduating from high school" thing (no, I do not know why I just put that in quotes) I'm having trouble looking forward to anything. Prom's coming up--update: still dateless--and then it'll be spring and then summer--update: still no plans--and then I'll be off to who knows where doing who knows what. Except, well, I'll be writing. But new ideas are hard to come by these days; I chose a depressing future profession.
The point is, I'm going to have to start figuring stuff out soon, like, by next week. I have to start accepting some things, and informing people about some things, and interacting with people about some things, and...well, that all makes my stomach start to twist itself up, kinda like how a swing set does when you spin it around and let the chains mix together. I feel like I've gotten too comfortable, and now that I'm hitting the point where comfortable isn't going to be allowed for, like, 10 years, I'm not so much okay with it. Guess it'll just take some getting used to.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
First Circle of Hell
I have officially decided that the Eighth Circle of Hell, reserved for the atheists and baby-killers, is one endless cycle of customer service. It may not surprise you, after hearing this information, that my college trip is not going/has not gone well. That would be, in no small part, due to the lovely customer service representatives at your friendly neighborhood online travel brokers. (Well, not friendly, and definitely not neighborhood).
I can sum this up easiest by saying that somehow, in the past 24 hours, I have been to Texas. "Why were you in Texas?" one who knows me might ask. "I thought you were going on a college trip to Boulder! YOU LIED TO US!" Well, calm down, my friends, and allow me to explain.
It all began from a stupid decision to attempt to fly from Flagstaff to Phoenix. The flight, understandably (because we're Flagstaff, and we just roll that way) was over an hour late in its departure. I missed my connection by about ten minutes. For the purposes of this discussion, we shall be defining the Flagstaff Airport as the First Circle of Hell. Kind of purgatory-ish, and you don't really suffer there, it's just the crippling boredom that slowly strips away your soul.
After a bumpy plane flight (the stupid thing was tiny), we arrived in our Second Circle: The Phoenix International Airport. To be fair, the only really negative thing about the airport itself was that nobody wanted to be there. Seriously, I saw a big fat ZERO people smiling while I was there (except for some of the people working there, and that was slightly unnerving). Their unfortunate joyless faces were probably a result of wherever they had been previous to their arrival in the Second Circle (consider Circle 1.5: the parking lot; but that's a different story).
And then, somehow, we jumped all the way to the Eighth Circle (sorry, Dante, not goin' in order here). For the next two hours my mother and I attempted to haggle with customer service representatives from Priceline, U.S. Airways (who actually did a pretty good job once we were there in person), Payless Car Rental (in retrospect, this was probably not the best idea), Continental Airlines, and the Millenium Hotel in Boulder, Colorado. The Priceline representatives did not speak English (that was fun), the Payless representatives forced us to pay for a completely new reservation even though we had already paid the last one, the Millenium Hotel screwed up our reservation (when we finally arrived, we didn't have a room), and Continental Airlines had a never ending cycle of an automated voice asking me questions and not understanding my answer.
We made our way through a few more circles (I'd put the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport at around the Fifth Circle, maybe Sixth), but it was that customer service that ruined my weekend. It was my own fault; I had absentmindedly said that my Friday had been amazing. Little did he know...
So, here's how it's going to work:
First, you'll have a phone line. It's automated, so maybe you'll think you can beat the machine. Your goal: to escape from Hell. You will be told, by the devil herself, that if you can convince the decisions committee that you do not belong in Hell, you can leave. So you pick up the phone, and you begin your trip through endless automation.
It will ask you such gems as "please state your purpose" and when you do, it will direct you towards the Torturer's Department, which has nothing to do with what you have just said. It will put you on hold for around a day, and when the Associate Torturer's Assistant finally tells you (in a language vaguely representing English, or whatever your native tongue is) that your claim is not in his department, before you can ask for help he will redirect you back into the machine.
This will continue for the rest of your existence. Sometimes, you may actually make it to the Claims Department, but it will be after hours, and they will refer you to a representative in the Acquisitions Department, which is not authorized to release you, and you will be forced to start all over again.
But don't forget the hold music. I am convinced that the hold music in Hell is Justin Bieber singing the chorus (not the rest of the song) of Baby, over and over and over again. And you will be forced to listen, because if you pull the phone away from your ear, the Claims Department representative will finally come on the phone for two seconds before assuming you are not there and hanging up on you, at which point you will start again.
Now, here's the kicker: after about two years of this, without eating, sleeping, breathing, etc. (all the normal things that living people do), you will realize that you cannot beat the machine. You can come close--that Claims Department is right at your fingertips--but you will never, ever leave. But there will be the vain hope in you that you can beat the machine, and you will continue, crying, clawing your ears out some days only to get through and not be able to hear the representative, so you are dropped once again. You will try and try, but you will always fail.
Yep, Customer Services: the modern myth of Sisyphus.
I can sum this up easiest by saying that somehow, in the past 24 hours, I have been to Texas. "Why were you in Texas?" one who knows me might ask. "I thought you were going on a college trip to Boulder! YOU LIED TO US!" Well, calm down, my friends, and allow me to explain.
It all began from a stupid decision to attempt to fly from Flagstaff to Phoenix. The flight, understandably (because we're Flagstaff, and we just roll that way) was over an hour late in its departure. I missed my connection by about ten minutes. For the purposes of this discussion, we shall be defining the Flagstaff Airport as the First Circle of Hell. Kind of purgatory-ish, and you don't really suffer there, it's just the crippling boredom that slowly strips away your soul.
After a bumpy plane flight (the stupid thing was tiny), we arrived in our Second Circle: The Phoenix International Airport. To be fair, the only really negative thing about the airport itself was that nobody wanted to be there. Seriously, I saw a big fat ZERO people smiling while I was there (except for some of the people working there, and that was slightly unnerving). Their unfortunate joyless faces were probably a result of wherever they had been previous to their arrival in the Second Circle (consider Circle 1.5: the parking lot; but that's a different story).
And then, somehow, we jumped all the way to the Eighth Circle (sorry, Dante, not goin' in order here). For the next two hours my mother and I attempted to haggle with customer service representatives from Priceline, U.S. Airways (who actually did a pretty good job once we were there in person), Payless Car Rental (in retrospect, this was probably not the best idea), Continental Airlines, and the Millenium Hotel in Boulder, Colorado. The Priceline representatives did not speak English (that was fun), the Payless representatives forced us to pay for a completely new reservation even though we had already paid the last one, the Millenium Hotel screwed up our reservation (when we finally arrived, we didn't have a room), and Continental Airlines had a never ending cycle of an automated voice asking me questions and not understanding my answer.
We made our way through a few more circles (I'd put the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport at around the Fifth Circle, maybe Sixth), but it was that customer service that ruined my weekend. It was my own fault; I had absentmindedly said that my Friday had been amazing. Little did he know...
So, here's how it's going to work:
First, you'll have a phone line. It's automated, so maybe you'll think you can beat the machine. Your goal: to escape from Hell. You will be told, by the devil herself, that if you can convince the decisions committee that you do not belong in Hell, you can leave. So you pick up the phone, and you begin your trip through endless automation.
It will ask you such gems as "please state your purpose" and when you do, it will direct you towards the Torturer's Department, which has nothing to do with what you have just said. It will put you on hold for around a day, and when the Associate Torturer's Assistant finally tells you (in a language vaguely representing English, or whatever your native tongue is) that your claim is not in his department, before you can ask for help he will redirect you back into the machine.
This will continue for the rest of your existence. Sometimes, you may actually make it to the Claims Department, but it will be after hours, and they will refer you to a representative in the Acquisitions Department, which is not authorized to release you, and you will be forced to start all over again.
But don't forget the hold music. I am convinced that the hold music in Hell is Justin Bieber singing the chorus (not the rest of the song) of Baby, over and over and over again. And you will be forced to listen, because if you pull the phone away from your ear, the Claims Department representative will finally come on the phone for two seconds before assuming you are not there and hanging up on you, at which point you will start again.
Now, here's the kicker: after about two years of this, without eating, sleeping, breathing, etc. (all the normal things that living people do), you will realize that you cannot beat the machine. You can come close--that Claims Department is right at your fingertips--but you will never, ever leave. But there will be the vain hope in you that you can beat the machine, and you will continue, crying, clawing your ears out some days only to get through and not be able to hear the representative, so you are dropped once again. You will try and try, but you will always fail.
Yep, Customer Services: the modern myth of Sisyphus.
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